Redemption
by silversurf4
Summary: Not so much as story as an interlude - moments connecting Crews & Reese. Post S2
1. Chapter 1

**REDEMPTION….**

_Present Day…._

He awoke in the dark. Even when he blinked his eyes open it remained dark.

It was also dank and smelled like stale water. He was covered in three to four inches of standing liquid when he awoke; he hoped it was just water. He didn't know anything, not what day it was, what time it was, where he was or how he got there but the one thing was he did recognize when he saw it was a prison.

He tried to control the panic he felt, he reached for a breathing exercise, but his breaths came in ragged gulps. He couldn't think or remember; his brain was overridden by the gut wrenching, horror-evoking image that he was once again locked in a cage. He closed his eyes forcing out the darkness and imagined bright yellow sunlight until his head hurt and tears fell from his pale blue shuttered eyes.

The cell was small, maybe four feet tall, too small to stand up in, so sitting up was the best he could do. It was about seven feet long, so he could lie down but whatever liquid was in the bottom of the cell made that an unpalatable option. He probed his body for injuries, but could only find rub marks at his wrist where he'd been tied or shackled and a gash on his head he had no memory of. His head was throbbing and he felt achy all over. There was dried and caked blood along his temple, in the contours of his ear and crusted to his short red hair. His watch was gone as was his wallet, keys and knife. His belt and shoes were likewise missing. The suit he was wearing was ruined, but that puzzled him.

_Why on earth would he have been wearing a suit?_

He reached into his memory for the last thing he could remember and found a blank page. Nothing would come, not his name, not what he was doing, not where he lived – nothing. He ran his hand around the edges of his prison and found it was chain-linked fence. He could hear the sound of running water and noted that the water in the cell was moving, slowly. Beyond that he heard the sound of distant cars on a highway. He shouted but only his echoed voice returned to him in answer. He closed his eyes and sought the escape of sleep because waking was too painful to endure. This part he remembered as the only relief of a life of confinement and privation.

Sleep could bring dreams and his did - of an exotic woman with dark hair and eyes, dressed in black. She appeared in his dream through a layer of glass or obscured in a dense fog or haze that refused to lift. She never spoke and he couldn't name her but he knew her and her smile spoke secrets to him. She was important, maybe all that was important in his world. The rest of his memory faded, but she remained – a question mark in his mind wearing a slight, knowing and yet questioning smile.


	2. Chapter 2

_Three months earlier….._

After her rescue in the orange grove, Crews was suspended and she was placed on medical leave. It separated them effectively, because they had no real reason to see each other outside work; at least not one that either of them would acknowledge. He called to check on her – twice the first week, then once the week after, then more sporadically, then not again for some time. She couldn't summon the nerve to call him and she had her hands full.

Kevin Tidwell moved from the "_harmless, but affectionate_" column to the "_smothering me and driving me bat shit crazy_" column in the weeks following her abduction. He talked non-stop about _their_ collective efforts to "save" her, but all she ever saw was Crews.

Crews standing in that navy blue suit amongst the green of his orange trees, trading himself for her. Crews being driven away in a White Cadillac Escalade and her heart leaping into her throat as he sped away. She was angry and annoyed at being kidnapped, but she knew true fear when they led him away. Lastly, Crews standing in a haze of dust, alive and unharmed - his pale blue eyes holding hers through the windshield of the car. And while Tidwell regaled her with tales of the raid on the factory building, listening for subway cars and roughing up the FBI, all she could see was Crews….

Crews in a photo arguing with her father; Crews in a photo with Mickey Rayborn on Rayborn's boat; Crews being led away by the Russians and nothing of Tidwell at all. He didn't even register, she realized. That more than anything convinced her that her dalliance with Tidwell while well intentioned on both their parts was at its end.

Her breakup with Tidwell was inevitable, but she kept putting it off. Over the first few weeks, she stopped staying over at his place, but tolerated him visiting over nights a couple nights at her place. She patiently told him, warned him, to leave her alone – that she needed space, time, quiet, but he wouldn't. His clinginess and oppressive affection pissed her off; partly because of her guilt. She didn't love him and she knew it. She thought she did for a while, until Crews burned her down with a look that erased her illusions.

Only Crews seemed to respect her privacy. Their conversations were full of unsaid things and empty air during which some times all she did was listen to him breath. It calmed her. She couldn't reason why simply being there on the phone with Crews soothed her – even when he said nothing or simply quoted Zen in a low conspiratorial tone. Eventually, he'd find a reason to end the call or Tidwell hovering at the edge of her vision would.

Their breakup came at the end of one such call, when Tidwell fretted and paced at the edge of her space anxious for the call to end.

More than once she'd shot him an annoyed look and mouthed "what?" at him.

He'd shrug noncommittally, but continue to eavesdrop and then the day came when she'd finally had it. "I have to go," she told Crews. He told her he knew and there was disappointment in his voice. She snapped her cell shut without saying goodbye and stared hard at Tidwell.

"This isn't working for me," she stated flatly trying to control her temper and failing. He looked stunned. "This isn't working for me and I want you to leave."

"Is it because of him?" he asked jealousy plainly present in his tone and affect.

"What? No!" she snapped. "Why would you say that? Why can't I talk to my partner without you acting like we're doing something we shouldn't?" Her anger was at the boiling point now. Nothing he said would be right, nothing could be right.

"He's not your partner – he's suspended. Besides you don't even talk to him," Tidwell complained. "For the past thirty minutes you've said maybe five sentences," he painted her a picture. "How is not talking to Crews better than being with me?"

She didn't even think about her response, it just leapt from her tongue without conscious thought, "because it just is," she shouted.

"This isn't a regular fight is it?" he asked quietly. "This is the end isn't it?"

"Yes," she confirmed holding the door for him.

He didn't even try to kiss her as he left. She shut the door and wondered why instead of feeling loss she felt relief. She didn't call Crews – she didn't want him to think what Tidwell thought – what she thought. That this was because of him – because of how she knew he felt and how she thought she did.


	3. Chapter 3

_One month ago….._

Crews was summarily dismissed from the Department. No charges were to be filed, but he was no longer an LAPD Detective either. Settlement or not, he'd killed a man with his bare hands and while the Department couldn't exactly prove it, Crews wasn't going to argue the point.

He got what he came for – Dani Reese back - safe and sound.

For days he tinkered around his large empty house. Ted phoned once or twice from Spain, where he'd found and wooed Olivia. He sounded happy. Rachel called from her new college. She was fitting in, getting in the groove of her new schedule and she too sounded happy. He called Dani. She didn't sound happy; but she sounded whole – and like Reese – for that he was thankful.

At night he began prowling, working the streets looking for information that would establish the linkage between Roman and Rayborn if it still existed. He inquired about who took Roman's place. Rayborn still needed dirty work done and he wasn't about to have that nastiness tied to him – fine upstanding citizen that he was. When you fake your own death and you're worth millions – it's considered eccentric; when you do it when you're not worth millions – you're just plain crazy.

He sat nights watching Rayborn's boat and the parties he held there. Mostly he sat there because being alone for him was hard. He'd made an effort to keep in touch with Reese. He didn't think he'd called more than was appropriate, but it was painfully apparent to him that she never, not once called him.

He could handle rejection – particularly when it was something he refused to acknowledge anyway. Besides she hadn't rejected him; he'd never afforded her the chance – they'd never really even talked about what happened.

_One plus one equals one._ _Who was he fooling? That wasn't him, it never had been._

Looked like Rayborn was in for the night, disgusted Crews turned on the car engine and drove away. He drove the Pacific Coast Highway in the dead of night, edging the fast car around tight curves at frightening speeds.

_Attachment causes suffering_ his Zen tape said. _You can't be attached to her_, he reasoned _she's not your partner anymore. She's someone else's girl._

He turned off the Zen tape and let the throbbing sound of indie rock fill the car. He listened to it because she listened to it. He stopped for gas at an out of the way station lit brightly, but deserted. His credit card zipped at the pump, the car filled and keys in the ignition; he never saw the man who struck him from behind. Things went dark and the last thing he could remember was his phone ringing on the pavement beside him – the caller ID read "Dani Reese."


	4. Chapter 4

_A week ago…._

The phone rang and rang, eventually the false brightness of Crews voice came down the line reminding her that he was "living in the now and couldn't come to the phone." _Yeah_, she scoffed, _he's probably safely in bed with some flavor of the week – some leggy blonde almost six feet tall and under 100 lbs_, but he couldn't very well say that on his voice mail.

She rang off without leaving a message. Figures that she'd wait until 3AM on a Wednesday night to work up the courage to call him. She worked her short red toenails into the shag of her carpet and contemplated her next move. She'd been cleared to return to work, without him.

They'd assign her a new partner, her choice Tidwell promised, still being somewhat conciliatory. She didn't want a new partner – she wanted Crews – and that made her examine why. Crews remained a big jagged unfinished part of her life. They were connected – just as she'd told Roman.

"Crews is connected to me," she remembered saying the words and knowing they were true on more than one level. She needed to see his face, to look into those pale eyes that even when he lied to her held no harm, no malice. But Crews was in the wind, at a party somewhere, in bed with someone, but one place he was not was on the other end of the phone that she stared at willing it to ring.

Her phone finally rang at 6AM. She answered dully having finally fallen asleep. She hoped it was him – it wasn't. It was Tidwell. They'd found Crews car at a lonely gas station on the Pacific Coast Highway, keys still in the ignition. There was blood – it was being typed, but Tidwell was pretty sure it would match Crews. Her partner was missing.


	5. Chapter 5

_Present Day…Reese's POV_

She found him, at last, in a small cage with dirty rainwater running through it. She had to shoot the lock off the gate; too impatient to wait for the bolt cutters Tidwell went to retrieve. His prison was below street level in an aqueduct system attached to the LA basin termed the "river," which often held no water at all. But…had it been the rainy season, he'd have drowned from the flash floods the concrete culverts were built to contain. Perhaps that was the point, to hold him in a place where each thunderclap in the distance could signal imminent death, to terrorize him from afar with that which he loved – the rain - constant torment with no physical tormenter.

He was a shape in the back of the cell; a damp shadow that to anyone else would have been unrecognizable, but one she knew at once. "Crews," she shouted, but he would not rouse. She spoke to him again, a loud bark of his name. Then as she realized he wasn't truly there - softer and more intimately his given name.

"Charlie," she questioned.

His eyelids fluttered open and his pale blue eyes shone in the darkness. The forlorn look in his eyes made her unspeakably angry. That someone would do this to him, her partner, the man she loved too much to tell was…. too much. She shoved the anger away and hastily examined him.

There was redness ringing his eyes and splotches of red on his face, as if he'd cried himself dry of tears – a concept that at once saddened and infuriated her. His wet suit clung to him like a soggy paper bag. His face was blurred, no longer the sharp firm jaw and cheeks she was used to. He bore a bright red haze of fur matching his eyes and hair. His eyes were glazed and wild and he did not speak – that alone worried her more than the rest.

She knelt and felt the cold water soak into her jeans from the knee to the ankle. She was careful not to touch him, but did not recoil when he reached out for her. His touch was light and tentative as if she was a mirage and would vanish before his eyes. His gesture forced his hand from his sleeve and she noticed raw red marks from restraints that were several days old. She grasped his hand lightly, turning it over in her smaller ones to examine his injury. She released his hand and moved to examine his head wound as he sat still and silent.

"Crews?" she questioned again, "I'm gonna get you outta here. Can you stand?"

He nodded and resolutely tried on coltish legs, twice without luck, before she leaned into him, took a position under his arm and helped him to his feet. His smile was ghoulish, but she returned it and he seemed to find something heartening there. He sighed heavily and his eyes slipped closed.

"Don't go to sleep yet," she warned. "Wait til I get you home and in bed."

Again he nodded mutely.

_Crews' POV_

She came to him in flashes. There was shouting, hers – he realized. Then she schooled her features and her voice, but was unable to keep the panic from her eyes. She spoke words that didn't matter, only her tone and the look in her eyes told him her fears. She was worried, her brow furrowed deeply and her lips tight. He wondered if it was him that concerned her or something else entirely.

"Look at you," she mumbled and then he did.

He was a soggy, mess. He vaguely recalled trying to speak and words failing him. Her hands were small, but strong. Insistence lived in her every gesture. She pulled him to his feet, not minding that he was covered in wet clothes and slime. His face felt rough as though he hadn't shaved in days, but her hand held his chin gently as she forced him to look at her. Her dark eyes were warm and welcoming. He tried to smile, but couldn't summon much beyond a twist of his lips.

She beckoned to him and they lurched together, her under his arm toward a tiny sliver of daylight. He wobbled and stumbled repeated and each time she arrested his fall or held him upright. She was stronger than she looked. A couple times on their ascent, he stopped as the feeling returned to his nearly numb legs and she patiently waited for him to nod before continuing. She held him close and tight all the time.

A man with shaggy brown hair and a suit to match stood nearby pacing and anxious. She shook the other man off with her furiousness. She sat him carefully in the front seat of a car that smelled new but wasn't. He shivered and he found his lap covered with a burgundy leather jacket and a blanket draped over his shoulders. He clasped his hands together to keep them from trembling.

She left him for a moment and spoke briefly with the shaggy man who kept shaking his head back and forth. They were disagreeing and the man was losing the fight. Her stance told him everything. Her entire affect was tight and unforgiving. She wheeled away and returned to him. Her eyes were on fire when she returned.

She knelt along side him and put both his feet into the car. She gently closed him door and drove them away from his prison in the waning light of a long day. On that day she saved him, he felt though as if she'd been saving him all along.

_Author's Note: I'm going to shamelessly beg for feedback here and let you know there is more, but I can't tell if this style "non-story" story is resonating. So no matter what you've got say - I'm all ears._


	6. Chapter 6

_The Day After…._

He awoke in the bright light of a noon sun. The room was big, the ceiling high, the sheets crisp and white. The sunlight was blinding and his pale eyes blinked back tears from the strength of the light. A shadow crossed in front of him and it was her – his vision. His eyes adjusted to the darkness she created and his cracked lips tried to smile. She warned him not to talk with a simple, "shhh." She bent to give him water. The bed dipped as she sat beside him and cradled him head raising him to a sitting position against a pillow.

He examined her and she was just as he remembered. Strangely she continued to be all he remembered. He watched the curve of her neck, the wisp of hair that crossed her collarbone, the delicate fingers that gripped the glass he drank from and then her dark expressive eyes. They drank all the light and color from the room in their endless depths. She nervously licked her lips.

"Are you okay?" she quietly asked and the concern in her voice was for him.

He nodded mutely and dragged the stray lock of hair from her collar with his trembling fingers. She tolerated his touch, but from it he knew that he'd never touched her this way before. The feel of her skin was not something he'd have forgotten – not ever. Her breath escaped in a nervous ragged breath.

"You've never not talked for this long," the way the words came out made her cringe. It sounded like something he'd say something nonsensical – _never not talked._

His hand strayed to her cheek and flattened against it as his fingers wove into her hair. Her small tanned hand closed over his as her breath hitched when he pulled her closer. "Crews," she demanded, but it was something he couldn't give. He didn't know Crews – all he knew was her.

"What's my name?" she demanded and pulled away.

He stared another long moment at her lips, the ones he wanted to taste. The ones he dreamed about often, but always woke before he could touch his tongue to hers. Somehow he knew she'd tasted of coffee and chocolate and cherries.

"What's my name Crews?" she repeated more gently. His dull stare told her he didn't know. "You don't know do you?"

His gaze flickered and she had her answer. "Why would you try to kiss me?"

This question perplexed him. _How could she be all he knew, all he could recall and yet not be his? _His gaze held his question.

"Tell me what you remember," she pushed.

"You," his voice rasped against his dry lips.

"What about me?"

"That I love you," he replied softly finding his voice. It was lower and stronger than either of them recalled.

"No," she shook her head and rejected the idea. This wasn't happening. She wasn't ready for this, for him, for them. "No," she repeated as whisper, dropping her head.

"Yes," he was closer now. Both of his hands were in her hair, his fingers whispered along her jaw line, sinking deep into her dark locks. She froze. "Yes," he rumbled as his lips closed over hers and he felt her release her resistance.

His first kiss was light, just a brush of his lips. She was still and silent, lest she break the spell. He returned to her lips to drink more deeply, parting her lips with his tongue. On his third trip to the well, he felt her surrender. She was no longer his captive, a woman he was kissing while she waited; she was part of their coupling, his partner. Her tongue teased his lips and the power he lacked returned as he drew her to him.

He pulled her atop him and their kissing became frenzied. His injuries were forgotten as he ran his hands over her body and his strength returned. She sat up straddling him. His erection was pinned between them and there was no mistaking his desire for her. Her hair was mussed, her face flushed and lips swollen from his bruising kiss. Both of them were breathless and beyond excited.

"Crews," she said again. Slowly it was dawning on him - that was him, his name.

"I don't remember anything but you," he bared his soul. "The whole time all that kept me alive," he tried to explain, "it was you, thinking about you."

"Shut up," she pushed away but he held her tight. "Shut up," she swore through her tears. His touch gentled and he drew her back to him, kissing her salty tears away.

"Shhh," he murmured against her temple. "Don't cry, Dani," her hidden name sprang unbidden to his lips. His lips captured her surprised intake of breath. He drank deeply and his hands pulled her tight against his manhood. She moaned into his mouth and all conscious thought fled. He rolled them until she lay beneath him.

"I love you," he professed, "even when I didn't know who I was, I knew I loved you."

She nodded through her tears and confessed her own sin, "I know."

"Tell me you're mine," he rumbled against her throat, his teeth teasing her flesh. "Tell me there's no one else," he spoke his own demands. "Tell me…."

"I love you," her breathless confession surprised them both. He drew back and smiled down at her.

"God, Charlie," she laughed through her tears. "You…" she started and then stopped.

He waited patiently, as she found her voice.

"I was looking for you," she told him.

"I know," he kissed her neck and laved her ear with his hot breath. Her pelvis ground against him, she wasn't even aware she rocked against him until he sunk his narrow hips between hers and returned the gesture. Her eyes were deep black pools. "I knew you'd come," he spoke the words she knew by heart.

All that time penned in the basement, those long months ago, she knew – he'd come for her. She never gave up hope, never lost her faith – in him. He was what she believed in now and he had been for far longer than she was willing to admit. She looked at him and he was watching her intently.

"Crews," she breathed in a voice and tone he remembered. In his mind they were surrounded by dark rich verdant green and the air smelled of oranges. He knew he was home. She was his home, his safety and he was hers.

As he descended into her she rose to meet him. His lips met hers, their mouths fused and he tore clothes from her. He needed to be there – with her, inside her more desperately than he'd ever needed to be anywhere. She pulled him to her, guiding him, holding him close. He paused a moment holding himself against her opening until she grabbed him by the hips and growled her need and want against his shoulder. As he slid into her and both of them released a deep groan and a shuddering sigh as he filled her and slid into her velvety warmth.

He set a gentle rhythm that built with each kiss and each touch. This was what he'd long sought. Flashes of his life returned as they stoked the fire that burnt away the lesser parts of themselves; each of the memories somehow connected to her – to them. Then nothing else mattered; not light, not darkness, not pain, not loneliness, just them together. They were connected.

They were the unwobbling center of an ever revolving universe. They were one.


End file.
